


Ernesto Dreams

by Anonymous



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Canonical Character Death, Drabble, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 08:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14184702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hundreds of years later, in a new life, Ernesto dreams of a past he can't quite remember.





	Ernesto Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is kind of a work in progress drabble that I might develop some day.

Some nights, Ernesto dreams. Disconnected fragments, unclear and indistinct. 

A cramped and dimly lit motel room, two shot glasses in lamp light, an echo of music played on a white guitar. He dreams of a man, tall and thin, with features he can't quite make out, writing with care into a red songbook. 

Sometimes Ernesto wakes with a jolt, the dream already fading but a rush of jealous fury, a biting betrayal he doesn't understand burning in his chest.

There are dreams Ernesto remembers well, that are more tangible and happy. Bright, warm days performing joyfully for a crowd in a plaza. There is a man at his side in these dreams, tall and thin with fingers that are quick and skilled over the strings of his guitar, all energy and passion, a smile that....

 

There are dreams Ernesto wishes he did not remember. Of falling bells, of a man tall and thin, bent over in pain in an empty street - 

Some nights, many nights, Ernesto dreams of a rusty shovel under moonlight. Of digging a shallow grave in the dead of night, a flutter of urgency clawing in his throat.

He dreams of dragging the body of a man, tall and thin, with blood on his chin and dirt in his hair. He feels the burdensome weight, the soft texture of his suit. Hears with clarity the dull thud as the corpse falls gracelessly into his shallow ditch. He can't help but take in the features each time, as he begins the process of burying the man: dark shaggy hair half obscuring glassy eyes he can barely stand to look at, a large hook nose and big ears on a thin face frozen in a contorted expression of agony. It all feels so achingly familiar, and - Ernesto wakes each time with a sick feeling churning in his gut, a name on his lips that he can't quite grasp. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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